


All the Little Pieces Falling Shatter, Shards of Me to Sharp to Put Back Together

by TheMadHatress13



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Deserves Better 2k18, Bucky Barnes Gets a Hug, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Crying, Hurt/Comfort, shippy if you want it to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 19:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14879718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadHatress13/pseuds/TheMadHatress13
Summary: So I've been hearing a bunch of theories about how the scars on Bucky's shoulder are from him trying to rip the metal arm off, so this my take on that. It starts off really sad, but it gets better!





	All the Little Pieces Falling Shatter, Shards of Me to Sharp to Put Back Together

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Just to be clear, this is NOT part of my main series, so it you've read that, don't get them mixed up! This is for my friend marvellife4ever.tumlr.com! If you like marvel stuff, check out her tumblr!

Bucky wasn’t entirely sure where he was, or how he’d gotten there. All he knew was that he was somewhere in Brooklyn. Memories had been waging war in his mind ever since he’d fought Captain America on the bridge. Even after Hydra had wiped him, he’d still seen things in passing flashes. He had made himself dismiss them as dreams at first, small little creations of his mind, but knew deep down it was more than just that.  
His suspicions were proven correct when he saw Steve again on the helicarrier. He had fought hard, his orders front and center in his mind. Kill Captain America. Kill Captain America. Kill Captain America. Protect Steve. What?  
He had felt his fist freeze in the air, seconds away from bashing the other man’s head in, and seen flashes of images in his mind as Steve spoke the same words he had a lifetime ago. His mission was to kill. Bucky didn’t kill.  
He’d watched the helicarrier fall, and he’d felt like he was flying as he’d jumped after Steve, and pulled his unconscious body out of the lake they had landed in. He’d been too afraid to stay, too afraid to know the truth, and so he had left. He watched the news whenever he passed a TV until he saw news about Captain America. When he first found out that Steve was safe h’d felt and odd sort of pressure in his gut and the back of his throat. At first he thought he was malfunctioning and needed more injections, but later realised it was what he had once known as relief. Steve was alive.  
The memories became more clear and understandable. His name was Bucky. He had no trouble remembering that anymore. Bucky Barnes. Steve Rogers was his best friend. He remembered Steve. He remembered saving him from ally fights, and watching him sketch. He remembered leaving for the war, and he remembered being taken.  
The memories proved confusing sometimes. In some memories Steve was small and frail, and then in others he looked like he did on the helicarrier. Soon that was cleared up as Bucky’s mind provided him the information about Steve’s serum, oh so similar to the one used on Bucky himself.  
With good memories came back though, and soon Bucky was swimming in the guilt of his previous kills, which he had never been allowed to feel before. He remembered ripping families apart with a metal arm, and watching the life leave the terrified eyes of innocent people as he crushed them to death between his hydra-made fingers.  
Tonight was one of those nights. When he curled up on the warehouse floor to sleep he found himself in Russia, heavy snow falling in flurries around him. Small pinpricks of light revealed where the village he was sent to go to lay. A young girl there had stumbled upon a Hydra base the previous day, and had seen the Hydra symbol. She had no reason to know what it meant, or even remember it, but they couldn’t take any chances. That was why Bucky was there.  
His instructions were simple: Kill the girl, and anyone else that saw him, or posed a threat. The girl looked to be about seven, with two younger brothers and her father in the room with her. They were dead within three minutes, they’re blood staining the metal arm.  
Bucky could hear the mother’s screams when she went back inside to find her family dead, but he paid them no mind. He was to cusy choking the life out of a local baker who had seen him pass by. Hail Hydra.  
Bucky woke to the sound of screaming, and jumped up to locate the sound only to find it coming from himself. He habitually flinched before realising that no handler was there to beat for his display of human weakness. No one was there. He was alone. His mind replayed the events of the memory to him over and over. He remembered that mission, it had been about fifty years ago, one of his first ones. The mother would probably be dead by now, perhaps buried with her family. Bucky didn’t know if the baker had any family. He didn’t even know his name. He stared down at the metal arm, watching as it glittered in the yellow light. It had killed so many.  
His existence had been based off of pain. What was a little more? He clenched his metal fingers and reached up to where the metal was connected to his shoulders and began to claw at it. He had finally found a use for the infernal device tethered to his flesh; destroying it.  
He cried out in pain as he dug into the flesh in his shoulder, but didn’t stop. Blood dripped down his chest and pooled on the ground, but the arm remained in tact. He gave a cry of agony and fell to all fours, panting as the blood continued to flow from the self inflicted gashes.  
His mind flooded with memories. Memories of a Brooklyn apartment, and caring for Steve when he got sick. Then he was at Coney Island, and then in a back alley beating the crap out of some guys for hurting Steve. Bucky stumbled out of the warehouse and down the streets, following the memories to what he hoped would be home. It was the early a.m’s, so those who were out where either to drunk or too tired to notice the blood dripping from Bucky’s shoulder and leaving red trails down his torso.  
He walked until he reached an old apartment building, and clambered up the fire escape until he tumbled through a window, landing in a tangled of flesh and metal on the ground. He stood ep shakily, but immediately fell back down, his vision lurching from blood loss. The apartment was abandoned and covered in a layer of dust. No one was there. His home was long forgotten. He felt tears slide down his cheeks, and let his body fall, watching the world tilt and spin as he curled into himself, no caring that his hair was now matted with blood. 

 

Steve stared up at the old apartment building. The only reason it hadn’t been torn down by now was because Tony had bought it so that the city wouldn’t be able to tear it down. Steve knew that he shouldn’t so attached to his old home, but for some reason he just needed to know that it was there. That something from his old life was still around.  
He slipped quietly into the building and crept up the stairs to where he knew his old apartment was. He could have found that door with his eyes closed. He hadn’t bothered to clean in months, so it looked well enough abandoned, so he expected nothing to look different when he walked in. He was very wrong. Steve stopped dead in the door, eyes zeroing in on the trembling shape huddled in the middle of the floor.  
“Bucky?” he breathed, recognizing the metal arm and long, messy hair. He ran over and turned Bucky over to find a pair of glazed over eyes looking up at him. Bucky made a weak grab for Steve’s shoulder with his non-metal arm, but soon gave up and just curled into himself.  
“Wha-what happened?” Steve asked, ripping off a piece of fabric from his shirt and wrapping it tightly around his friends shoulder to stem the bleeding. Bucky didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. With growing horror Steve reached out and grabbed the fingers of Bucky’s metal arm, looking at the blood stains on the end, and how the sizing and shape matched perfectly with the deep gashes on Bucky’s shoulder.  
“What did you do?” he asked in a small voice.  
“Had to,” Bucky breathed back, eyes fluttering slightly before he passed out. 

 

The next time Bucky woke up, he was lying on a large bed in an unfamiliar room overlooking New York City. His shoulder felt numb, and when he looked down he saw that his metal arm was missing, his shoulder heavily bandaged. The next thing he noticed was Steve.  
“Steve?” he croaked, voice hoarse.  
“Yeah, Buck, it’s me,” the blonde replied, squeezing his hand lightly.  
“Where am I?” Bucky asked, unable to grab any clue from the makeup of the room.  
“Avengers tower. You’re in my room. You lost a lot of blood and were already pretty out of it when I found you. You were in the medical wing for the past three days, they didn’t give me the okay to bring you here until this morning,” Steve explained. Bucky looked down guiltily. Steve wzs upset. He had made Steve upset He didn’t like it.  
“Where’s the arm?” Bucky asked.  
“Disposed of,” Steve replied shortly. “Stark’s making you a new one.” Bucky nodded, mind reeling. “Bucky, what were you doing?” Steve finally asked, making Bucky flinch.  
“It killed people. It killed seven year old girls and five year old boys who just happened ot be in the way. It killed fathers and mothers and people just going about their business, and it was me. I couldn’t get it off. No matter what I did, it wouldn’t come off.”  
“How did you get to the apartment?” Steve asked next.  
“I remembered the way,” Bucky replied. “I don’t anymore, but I did for a few moments. I wanted to go home, but it wasn’t home. It was empty.” He looked up at Steve.  
“What now?”  
“Now, you rest.” Bucky nodded sharply and closed his eyes, body still tense. It was then that Steve realised his mistake.  
“It you want,” he added hurriedly. This only seemed to confuse Bucky, who looked up at him with scared eyes.  
“I-I don’t k-know…” he trailed off, breath quickening.  
“Hey, hey, it’s okoy. You can just relax here, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Steve assured him. Bucky still couldn’t understand. He wasn’t supposed to ‘want’ anything. It was not part of his programming to ‘want’. He enjoyed being with Steve though, and he had a feeling that was as close as he would ever get to the understanding of the word. He drifted off to sleep a little while later, and found himself in Brooklyn, where he spent the night looking through sketch’s and laughing with the smaller version of Steve.

**Author's Note:**

> LegacyofLight.tumblr.com


End file.
